


who am I to tell me who I am

by kannjou



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Family Feels, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Mentioned Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Past Child Abuse, Post-Time Skip, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier Needs A Hug, because Miklan, even though i made him kill Miklan in every route, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kannjou/pseuds/kannjou
Summary: Just because you’ve spent all of your time hating someone, doesn’t mean you didn’t love them. In the wake of loss, comfort can be found close by.orFelix and Sylvain reflect on the not-so-mutually-exclusive nature of resentment and attachment.Post-timeskip, post-Battle at Gronder, Azure Moon route.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 58





	who am I to tell me who I am

“Felix.”

“Go away.”

He cast his eyes down to stare at his feet, hesitation gripping his bones. Why did it always turn out like this? Sylvain considered himself a coward when it came to matters of the heart, but never where his friends were concerned. He lifted his gaze, bringing it to rest on Felix’s cloaked back. 

A light breeze ruffled the thick strands of Felix’s ponytail, but the wind did little to hide the crack in his voice. Far in the distance, Sylvain thought he could hear a crow. He scuffled forward, the gravel at his feet scattering, the only noise in a world that felt like it should have gone silent. 

“Leave me alone, Sylvain.” Felix spoke again, before Sylvain could get another word in, “Now is not. Now is not a..” 

Sylvain was close enough to rest a hand on Felix’s shoulder now, but the latter was still facing away, looking off toward a receding horizon. He made no move to shove him off so Sylvain gripped tighter, praying the warmth of his hand had made it through his gloves. 

Then he heard it.

The telltale sound of a sniffle. And then another. 

Before he’d realized it himself, Sylvain had pulled Felix back into him, wrapped his arms under Felix’s, and was burying his nose in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. It was wet and hot with what were unmistakably tears, but Sylvain kept his eyes shut. He wasn't looking for Felix's sake, he thought. 

Felix would never want anyone to see his crying face. But Sylvain’s known it longer than anyone. Better than anyone. 

And that’s when he realized he wasn't looking for his _own_ sake, because he couldn't bear the sight of a broken Felix and wasn't sure his aching chest could handle anymore today. He knew he was being selfish. Surely, the one hurting the most right then was Felix? Sylvain’s got no excuse for falling apart.

So when Felix finally relaxed in his arms, Sylvain made the snap decision to sink his teeth into the edges of his gloves and tug them off. They dropped to the ground and the biting cold reached his fingers almost instantly, but he ignored it in favor of turning Felix around to grip his face with both hands.

The other was startled, looking up at him through glassy eyes. No sooner had their position changed, than Felix was holding onto the leather straps of Sylvain’s lance holster with a death grip, closing his eyes painfully tight. 

“Syl-” he started, frustrated.

“It’s okay.” Sylvain cut him off, “Felix, it’s alright to cry. It’s me. Just me.”

Turns out that’s all he needed to say. Felix finally let go and opened his eyes, hot tears spilling down his cheeks, leaving gleaming tracks in their wake. Sylvain brushed his thumbs under Felix’s eyes, continuing to do so even as more tears threatened to spill, a fruitless effort in comfort. Felix met his gaze then, for the first time since losing his father at that morning’s battle. 

Sobs racked his body and Felix cried loudly then. Only Sylvain heard it. Loud and unabashed, all of the pain came spilling out in a rush of choked sobs and shaky breaths. 

Felix cursed his father, because he’s spent years cursing him for praising Glenn’s sacrifice, for putting his estate and the title of Duke above his own flesh and blood, the very sons he helped bring into the world, only to abandon them in the name of duty. 

He cursed the damned chivalry that took him, an abstract concept with such concrete consequences. For his family. For himself. Because how could a system so cruel as to take sacrifices, to put the value of one life over another, ever be considered _honorable?_

He breathed curses against Dimitri, for throwing away all of the faith they’ve placed in him to chase after ghosts. People who are already gone. Who will never come back. Who will never tell him what he’s done is right or just.

He cursed this goddamn war, and raged against Sylvain, because he’s just like the lot of them, ready to throw away his life for what? For a boar of a king? Or for Felix? 

And then he cursed himself, because he couldn’t protect anyone else. Couldn’t be like Glenn, couldn’t be _there_ for Glenn, should have died instead. What worth was he as a brother? And what worth was he as a son, for all his time shunning his father for twisted ideals and an apathetic response, just for Rodrigue to get himself killed for a surrogate son, someone other than Felix, and then he took it back. Because he was sorry. He didn’t mean that. Felix inhaled sharply, cried even louder, and Sylvain took it all wordlessly, a hand in Felix’s hair, holding him close, the other rubbing soft circles on his back. 

Sylvain heard it all—the years of anguish, the hours of emptiness—and started crying too. 

\---

By the time the pair returned to the grounds of Garreg Mach, it was dark and the mood was sour. Dimitri and the professor were nowhere to be seen, but Felix figured it was for the best. He didn’t want to hear any excuses or apologies from the boar, not when it seemed the broken husk of a prince had finally regained a trace of his will to live. Felix swallowed down on the bitter remembrance, still too fresh not to sting his eyes. He’d lost the last remaining member of his family that morning. He and Dimitri were now one and the same. Or at least they will be, when they finally succeed in killing Edelgard. 

Felix had just set his rations pack onto the desk and undone the straps of his sword holster when the door of his old dorm bedroom swung open without even a knock of warning. He’d been in somewhat of a daze, willing his mind to empty of all thoughts lest he fall back down a rabbithole of unnecessary emotions. He was tired of thinking all day, mentally and physically exhausted from his moment of weakness in Sylvain’s arms, an experience he thought he’d left in the past but was now staring him in the face as he identified the intruder to be none other than the redhead himself. 

“Sylvain,” he stated plainly. The taller man had merely shed his armor in their short time apart, standing up straighter in the fur-lined coat he typically wore underneath. His eyes scanned Felix from top to toe, likely noting nothing new, as he’d been there when Felix had dropped off his swords and gauntlets at the monastery armory. 

“Come with me,” Sylvain finally spoke, rare considering he was always running his mouth upon entrance. Felix tipped his head, indicating that he had heard but wasn’t willing to ask why.

“Just come,” came Sylvain’s exasperated response, already well-versed in the language of Felix. He wasn’t sure when Sylvain had gotten so good at reading him. Part of him wanted to say it was over their years at the academy, when Felix had first started ignoring Dimitri and had stopped laughing at Ingrid and Sylvain’s bickering, but something told him it had been much earlier. 

When Glenn’s kind voice would suddenly become stern and say things like, “Not right now, Felix” or Dimitri, still naive and easily confused back then, would say “Felix, if you do not tell me what the issue is, I cannot possibly be of assistance!”, Sylvain would always be there, bigger and taller and warmer, with a bright grin and a “Hey, it’s okay Fe, you’ll be okay,” before he’d even said what was wrong. 

So Felix fixed the clasp on his coat and followed Sylvain out, down the stone steps to the Garreg Mach gate. Felix thought they really were going to head out onto the main road and toward the nearby village, but Sylvain led them to a dirt path that branched off and toward a grassy clearing on the outskirts of the monastery. Just as he parted his lips to ask where they were going, Sylvain plopped onto his back in the middle of the clearing, arms outstretched before he settled his palms behind his head like he often did while standing. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Felix began, “there’s no time for this.”

“Felix, please.” Sylvain said, eyes meeting Felix’s with a genuine plea. 

He breathed a puff of feign irritation out his nose, then crossed and uncrossed his arms a few times. Felix wasn’t sure how long to stall, for once, because if he was being honest, lying down on the grass did seem quite nice. The air felt cleaner today, and despite the dark, he didn’t sense a single presence nearby. Wordlessly, he gave in and settled onto his back as well, if only to avoid looking any more like a petulant fool. 

A light breeze tickled his cheeks, and the only sounds were the nearby cicadas and the distant bustle of their home camp, surely preparing for the next leg of their journey. They might have won at Gronder, but the hardest battles of the war were yet to come. 

He realized then, lying on his back with his gaze on the night sky and his mind on the war, why Sylvain had asked him out here. It was to see the stars.

“Wow,” Felix breathed, unsure of what he’d actually meant to say.

‘Yeah,” Sylvain agreed, “I noticed there were no clouds tonight when I looked out my window earlier.”

They saw the stars every night, often using them for navigation, but the way their light shone brilliantly and undeterred at that moment astounded even Felix, who had long forgotten any interests he’d had in stargazing. 

While a real bed instead of a cot was a comfort Felix wasn’t sure they’d be afforded again anytime soon, especially on the march toward Enbarr, he couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t mind staying out here tonight. 

The relative quiet was broken as Sylvain began to speak, loud enough for Felix, only a couple of feet away, to hear, and yet soft like the grass beneath them, as though he was afraid of being heard. 

“For all the shit Miklan gave me growing up, for all the times I was afraid to turn the corner and be faced with another shove or a hand at my throat,” Sylvain paused, grappling with whether to finish the thought, before breathing out a long breath. Loud and heavy with a burden Felix never wanted to bear, but wanted to understand nonetheless. 

“He was still my brother.”

Sylvain’s voice broke on _brother_ , and Felix saw him turn onto his side out of the corner of his eye. He was facing away from him now, resting the weight of his head on his arm, bent at the elbow. 

Yes, anyone in their house could attest to Sylvain claiming he never cared much for his family. It was a big reason why he left the Gautier troops behind to take care of the Sreng uprisings on their own, while he came down here after hearing rumors of a killing machine on the loose, unfounded hopes of seeing Dimitri lighting a path. Felix knew this.

Felix knew Sylvain resented his family, but he knew just as well, that wasn’t all there was to it. And he was beginning to understand, all over again, why Sylvain had asked him to come out here with him. To see the stars, billions of glimmering lights, hundreds of thousands of miles away, living and dying in the same breath, and to feel less alone. 

Sylvain was at his side, telling him that he knows. 

He knows what it’s like to ask someone to stay away but miss them when they’re gone. Like always, he’s telling him, _“Felix, it’ll be okay”_. 

Sylvain continued then, spoke slowly and with care, of a time when Miklan had dug his palm into Sylvain’s hair to ruffle it playfully, instead of painfully. A time when they’d all sit around the table at dinner, and Miklan would flick his brussel sprouts onto Sylvain’s plate with his fork when their mother turned to grab the next dish out of the oven. When Sylvain was little and didn’t know much about Fodlan’s history beyond the books on the lowest shelf of the bookshelf in his father’s study, until Miklan would reach up and grab the higher ones for him. 

And so it scared him to see that man turn into a real beast, a monster in mind and in form, for reasons that Sylvain could never understand. For a crest he could never want, let alone wish for. 

And it still hurt like it was his own chest when he felt the Lance of Ruin, passed down their bloodline for generations, slice through his brother, a Gautier, like he wasn’t even there.

That night he spent at the bottom of a well, toes numb and lips stained blue, he’d given into despair. _“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him with my own two hands,”_ Sylvain had said in a moment of frustration and rigid fear. He hadn’t meant it seriously. But perhaps the goddess had heard him anyways.

Because he did it. He killed his brother with his own two hands, and Sylvain was never quite the same after. 

At the end of the day, the family he claimed to hate so much were the impetus for so many of his choices, for so much of how he lived his life. He’d formed a habit of flippantly picking up girls and throwing them away like a spoiled dinner, nearly every chance he’d gotten. It had become a staple of his personality, but not exactly because he’d willed it that way. 

What he had always thought of as a show of defiance against an inevitably loveless marriage and, by extension, the crest-obsessed society they lived in, were really just feeble attempts at scorning his parents, who acted like slaves to it. The truth was, he was attached to them anyways, and let them control him with the very beliefs he resented. A stronger man would have stood up for himself.

Their expectations for him plagued his every thought some days, and all he could do was laze around so word that he was actually intelligent and talented would never reach them, sleep around so rumors that he was an inconsiderate playboy would. 

No matter how far he traveled from Gautier territory, their scowls and disapproving tones would follow him. If he really hated them, he wouldn’t be trying so hard. Wouldn’t care enough to even act out.

So he actually did care, Sylvain belatedly realized. Maybe too much. Because when all was said and done, they were _family_. You could tell him a thousand times to forget them and Sylvain doesn’t think he ever could.

But here with the Professor leading them? Fighting alongside Dimitri, Ingrid, Felix, and the others, he knew that he’d gained something from their connection that his blood relatives could never give him. An attachment deeper than family. 

He may never abandon his parents, and may never forgive himself for what happened with Miklan, but the found family they’d built here at Garreg Mach, the one they were trying to win this war and change the world with, that’s the family he would die for. And the one he would live for, too. He was okay with that, proud of it even. He told Felix as much. 

There was no way to ignore Sylvain’s honest admission. It rang into the cool night air long after he’d finished speaking. By opening up about his own feelings, he was inviting Felix to reciprocate, to let himself just _feel_ for once, instead of running away. 

Felix craved solace on the battlefield, where the enemy was a swords-length away and his skills were all he needed. People always said that Felix was anything but a coward, yet here he was, far less brave than Sylvain when it came to facing the enemy close to his heart. 

Sylvain waited patiently for Felix to reply. As usual, though, words were more difficult than actions for Felix. He shifted onto his side and curled himself up against Sylvain’s back, making points of contact at his forehead and knees. The redhead stiffened, then quickly relaxed against him. 

Felix swore he could feel his heartbeat in his ears, deafening and suffocating all at once. Before he could regret getting close, Sylvain flipped over to face him, reached for his hands with both of his own. 

Felix tried to jerk his hands away, but Sylvain held his grip tight. His larger hands were warm around Felix’s, firm and unyielding. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll retake Fhirdiad. And then we’ll march toward Enbarr. Someday, Dimitri will be king. Someday, we’ll have tea with everyone from the Officers’ Academy, and we’ll tell all of their kids how much this war absolutely freaking sucked. Someday, you will properly bury your father’s body on the Fraldarius estate.”

He pulled Felix’s hands closer to his chest, “but tonight, you can mourn. Mourn him, because he’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

“But I’m not going anywhere, Felix. I’m right here.”

Felix swallowed, finally daring to look up and into copper eyes, burning like hot embers despite the dark of the night. Brighter than the stars overhead.

“Always?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“Always.” Sylvain said, offering a smile, the kind that sent the spark in his eyes deep into Felix’s chest, where it burned and burned and burned. 

“Until the day we die,” he said, reaffirming a childhood promise, and reminding Felix that while his brother and his father had left him behind,

Sylvain never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by song lyrics from Netflix Trip by AJR. I really thought, if there was ever a time Sylvain would face his feelings head on, it would be while trying to convince Felix not to have a stone for a heart.


End file.
